


lost my fear of falling

by ftmsteverogers



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, mlm author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftmsteverogers/pseuds/ftmsteverogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s been two weeks,” Natasha says, pressing a coffee cup into Steve’s hand.  “How long are we going to do this?”</p><p>Steve watches the steam curl into question marks above his cup. “I know he’s still in there,” he says, and that’s that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lost my fear of falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ad_astra_03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ad_astra_03/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [坠落](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1529801) by [amelia14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelia14/pseuds/amelia14)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Больше не боюсь упасть](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3452489) by [efinie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/efinie/pseuds/efinie)



> This is for ad_astra_03, who inspires me daily and forced me to have these feelings against my will :)

I. 

The first day, Steve doesn’t open the door.  He doesn’t even touch the doorknob, his fingertips dragging over the glass of the one-way mirror as he watches the Winter Soldier sleep.  Natasha joins him, after a couple hours, and puts her hand on the small of Steve’s back.  Her hair falls into her eyes when she ducks her head.

 

II.

The second day, the Winter Soldier wakes.  Steve watches him pull against his bonds for fifteen minutes before he can stomach it no longer and walks inside, the click of the door behind him more ominous than he thinks is frankly fair.

The Winter Soldier watches him with mutinous black-smudged eyes, tracks Steve’s footsteps like a wild, caged animal.  Steve supposes, a little ruefully, that that’s what he is.

“Sleep well?” he asks, sitting in the seat across from him.  The Winter Soldier bares his teeth in answer.

 

III.

Sam doesn’t vocalize that he thinks it’s a mistake, but Steve can read it in his eyes.

“I can’t give up on him,” Steve says, not for the first time.

Sam nods.  "Whatever you have to do, man."

Natasha exhales in a weary sigh.

 

IV.

The Winter Soldier tests his bonds the entire day, methodically pacing the room to see how far he can get before the chain stops him.  Steve hates to see him tied up, but Natasha tells him it’s either shackles or they put him out of his misery, and faced with that choice, Steve takes the first option.

“What is this shit?” the Winter Soldier demands, when Steve comes in with food, gesturing angrily at the chains he can’t seem to break.

“Vibranium,” Steve answers.  “Like my shield.”

The Winter Soldier’s lip curls.  “Unbreakable,” he says, and slumps into sitting on the bed. “Figures.”

He doesn’t say anything else.  Steve is still embarrassingly grateful he got to hear his voice.

 

V.

“I brought your file,” Steve says, holding it up as a peace offering to the venom in the Winter Soldier’s eyes.

The Winter Soldier doesn’t say anything in response, but he can’t hide his curiosity completely, which Steve chooses firmly to count as a victory—even if it’s naïve to assume he has anything to do with it.

“I can—we can go over what I know,” Steve offers, the words sticking to the roof of his mouth.  “About you.  You have questions, I bet, and I have answers, if you want them.”

“Fuck you,” the Winter Soldier answers viciously, and spits at Steve’s shoes.

Steve can’t convince himself to count that as a victory as well, no matter how hard he tries.

 

VI.

The nightmares start near the end of the first week. The Winter Soldier whimpers in his sleep, fists curling uselessly in his hair as he tosses back and forth on his cot.

Steve watches this helplessly while Natasha strokes a hand through his hair, over and over again, gentle in a way he never knew her to be.

“He’s so hurt,” Steve says, pained, to the crook of her neck.

Natasha sighs, her breath ghosting over Steve’s ear, and murmurs “I know,” while she lets Steve clutch her a little tighter.

 

VII.

One night, while Steve is waiting silently for the Winter Soldier to wake—he knows his patterns now, can predict the four in the morning gasps of awareness—Steve realizes that he is without purpose without Bucky.  Even when Bucky had been dead, he had given Steve purpose; now that he’s here-and-not, his body blasphemed by the ice in his veins, Steve is held immobile until he has him back to a person he can look at without his heart stinging.

The Winter Soldier rolls over, muttering in his sleep.  Steve is almost sure he catches his name on the Soldier’s lips.

 

VIII.

When the Winter Soldier is in a milder mood, Steve talks to him, telling that black-smudged derisive face all the stories he can think of to hopefully snag some memory from the abyss in his head.

When he’s spitting venom, pulling against his chains until his shackles bite into his wrists, Steve lets him snarl until he exhausts himself and then keeps talking.

“Whatever you see in me, it’s gone,” the Winter Soldier tells him wearily, head tipping back to rest against the wall after one such outburst.  “It’s dead.  Bucky’s dead.”

Steve swallows roughly.  “I believed that last time,” he says softly.  “Not today.”

“You’re a stupid motherfucker,” the Winter Soldier snorts, but closes his eyes, ankles crossing in front of him on the mattress.

 

IX.

“Why do you _look_ at me like that,” the Winter Soldier snaps, smashing the water glass Steve had handed him to the ground.  “So fucking _hopeful_.  It’s disgusting.”

Steve flinches at the sound of glass shattering, but doesn’t look away from the Winter Soldier’s brittle eyes.

“I’m not going to give up on you,” Steve says calmly.

“You should,” the Winter Soldier spits. “Put me out of my misery.  Save us both a lot of heartache.” 

Steve watches him with sad eyes.  “You’re worth the heartache,” he says softly.

The Winter Soldier doesn’t have an answer to that.

 

X.

“It’s been two weeks,” Natasha says, pressing a coffee cup into Steve’s hand.  “How long are we going to do this?”

Steve watches the steam curl into question marks above his cup. “I know he’s still in there,” he says, and that’s that.

 

XI.

“Nightmare?”  Steve leans in the doorway cautiously, watching the Winter Soldier breathe unsteadily on his cot.

“Fuck off,” is the answer, although it's weary enough that it lacks venom.

Steve sighs and is about to give up, turning away with his heart in his throat, but then—

“Train,” the Winter Soldier says tiredly.  “There was a train.”

Steve grips the door frame hard, face draining of color, knees like water underneath him.

“Yeah,” he says.  “There was.”

“Should’ve let you drown,” the Winter Soldier mutters, rolling over to turn his back to Steve.

 

XII.

Barton, eyeing the window warily, crosses his arms over his chest.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” he asks, rubbing a hand across his jaw. 

“No,” Natasha says at the same time Steve emphatically answers “Yes.”

Barton grins.  “Have you tried cognitive recalibration?”

 

XIII.

“Rogers,” the Winter Soldier says, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“How are you so damn certain?” His hands curl into fists over his kneecaps. 

Steve wants to reach out, wants to touch him, and has to consciously focus on keeping his arms at his sides.  _This isn’t Bucky_ , he has to remind himself.  _Not yet_.

“Because I think it would probably break me to think anything else,” he answers honestly.

The Winter Soldier closes his eyes.  “You really loved this guy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly.  “I do.”

 

XIV.

Steve is spending a silent meal with Natasha when he hears the screaming start.

“Aw, hell,” he mumbles, stumbling to his feet to sprint down the hall toward the Winter Soldier’s cell.

What he finds is the Winter Soldier, forehead pressed to his knees, Barton looking at him with his hands held at shoulder height and panic written all over his face.  Papers are scattered at their feet like shards of bone.

“What did you do?” Steve demands.

“He asked to see his file,” Barton says, alarmed.  “Was I not supposed to give that to him?”

Steve’s heart swoops in his chest.  “Bucky?” he calls out, breathless, dropping to his knees to put his hands on the Winter Soldier’s shoulders.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps.  “Steve, Steve, Steve—”

Neither of them hears Barton close the door behind him as he leaves to give them both some privacy.

 

XV.

"How many people did I kill?" Bucky asks, eyes empty and echoing, curled into a ball with his arms wrapped around his knees.  Steve sits next to him, their shoulders brushing, uncertain how much he is allowed to touch.  This isn't a situation he knows the rules for.

"Don't think about that," he says firmly.  "You weren't the person who killed those people, that was the Winter Soldier."

"I was, though," Bucky says miserably, and tips his head onto Steve's shoulder.  "I am.  The Winter Soldier was me.  Still is.  I don't even know if it's possible for me to be Bucky anymore."

"I'm Captain America," Steve reminds him, slipping an arm around Bucky's shoulders.  "And as long as there's a Captain America, there's a Bucky Barnes."

"Fucking optimist," Bucky mumbles, but smiles, ever so slightly.

 

XVI.

"So," Natasha says.  "You and Barnes."

Steve fidgets uncomfortably.  "Yeah?"

"Not going to ask Sharon Carter out, are you?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Steve looks over his shoulder at Bucky's silhouette lying in his bed.

"Nope," he answers, and smiles when Natasha rolls her eyes and smacks him.

 

XVII.

"You sure you want to do this?" Bucky asks softly, running his left hand up Steve's spine.  His fingers are surprisingly warm, the danger lurking beneath his metal skin making Steve shiver as he mouths at the curve of his throat. 

"Yeah," he answers, palms sliding over the scarred muscle beneath him.

"I'm pretty fucked up," Bucky mumbles, like it's a secret, breath catching in his throat when one of Steve's legs slides between his thighs. 

"So be fucked up with me," Steve suggests breathlessly. "'S better than being fucked up all by yourself."

Bucky laughs, tipping his head back with the force of it, until Steve shuts him up with a kiss.

 

XVIII.

"I still wish I could've whacked him really hard on the head," Barton says, a little wistfully, nudging Steve's foot with his toe.

"Next time," Bucky promises him, patting Barton's shoulder a little too hard as he passes him.

 

XIX.

Bucky still has nightmares every night, but at least Steve can hold him now, murmur reassurances in his ear until Bucky’s head is quiet.  He is so grateful, so thankful that he gets this, now, that he can almost swallow the guilt that threatens every day to choke him.  _I should’ve looked for him_ , he thinks to himself, ashamed,  _Shouldn’t have assumed the worst_ , but then Bucky makes a soft noise in the crook of Steve’s neck and Steve’s entire mind goes blank.

He has time to make up for not reaching Bucky’s hand.  He has a second chance.  Steve closes his eyes, pulling Bucky closer to his body.

 

XX.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks dubiously, looking down at the costume in his hands.

“Yep.”  Steve watches him with cautious affection over the rim of his coffee cup.

“I can’t be Captain America,” Bucky says, though the pad of his thumb runs over the star over and over again, mesmerized.  “Not all by myself.  You’re the symbol.”

“So do it with me,” Steve suggests, shrugging.  “We’ll be Captain America together.”

Bucky still looks uncertain, tucking his shaggy hair behind an ear with his metal hand.

“You’re already my better half,” Steve teases, and can see in Bucky’s eyes the moment he gives in.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky says with a small, pleased smile.  “I guess I could do that."  He glances upward, eyes glittering.  "’Til the end of the line?”

Steve presses a kiss to the corner of Bucky’s lopsided, smiling mouth.  “Yeah, Bucky,” he murmurs.  “’Til the end of the line.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm barneswilson on tumblr! Come say hi :)


End file.
